Face value.
No more Les Amis but only laksa mee
No more Creme de la Mer costing over 300 bucks a jar but now Cetaphil
No more French food at Saint Pierre but nasi lemak near Clifford Pier
No more nubile ballerinas in my lap dancing but only Fashion TV to titillate
No more La Perla only Victoria’s Secret
No more Tetsuya’s, only Ya Kun toast with butter and kaya
No more Broadway shows but only crap from MediaCorp yeah?
No more latte at Starbucks but teh si at kopi tiam
No more dreams of São Paulo but bus trips to Kuala Lumpur
No more cider in private cellars
No more sojourns to Moscow or Rio de Janeiro
But free reads of guidebooks at Borders
While others just can’t wait to fly off to see the world, I go too, but virtually
When others seems to rejoice gleefully over exotic trips they’re taking
Is the message “I can’t wait to be away from you finally”?
I am gobsmacked, but flummoxed?
Sure…
Salt, meet Wound – come on, shake hands, go forth
What else is new
The panoply of normalcy
Subject to all kinds of representation and mis-interpreting
Sorry, the hangup’s mine, nothing to do with you
But – and – if people are happy to risk their lives flying in rust buckets, it’s their choice, really
Who am I to interfere with their destiny?
Who am I to interfere with their life journeys?
A total Gestalt switch
No more thousand-dollar celebrity dining companions but “home-grown talents”
Anyway, at this rate, I’ll soon become an ostrich
No, I’m not in the deepest depths of my darkest night – hey, I bought that monk’s Ferrari – but perhaps I’m merely being a Scrooge, preparing for The Great Escape?
Think Steve McQueen, mean machine
When chains break and gates open and my wings open up and unfold and they flap mightily – oh, feel the breeze – I soar
Like an eagle in the sky
Like a majestic and regal eagle in the sky
I will fly alone
Leaving the ducks behind
The eagle – r?ra avis – flies alone, the ducks, they huddle in a puddle of muddle
Me – mighty eagle
Freedom from perpetual torment
Out of bondage
Paradise regained à la Milton, John, that is
Time for new conversations
Chaque chose a une fin
A whiff, a glance, a passing moment, honey, was it you?
A pang of pain, a stab of longing
Oh how I wish it wasn’t just me reminiscing
How I wish it was really you
But no, reality hits and I know I was merely dreaming
I’ve searched high and low
But could never find that which truly satisfies
I pray for my depression to go, for a miracle to come
But nothing happens
Sins from a hundred pillows sorrow wrought
Sorry, daydreams are my only freedom
My flights of fancy
And this is a daydream, a ventilation, a mental sigh
My catharsis
My fantasies
Allow me this at least, grant me this catharsis
Let me catharsize
That, or I will asphyxiate
And meet with an early demise
Selah